


Streetlight

by SquigglyAverageJoe



Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Autumn, Drunkenness, They’re human in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquigglyAverageJoe/pseuds/SquigglyAverageJoe
Summary: Mae goes on an adventure home—drunk off her ass with her irritated friend Bea.(Rated T for swearing.)
Kudos: 15





	Streetlight

It’s warm, Mae thinks—weirdly warm in this car with Bea, but the heater isn’t on. Outside, out in those woods with all those people, drinking down the lukewarm beer she wasn’t even sure if she wanted while she kept glancing at the familiar face she tried so hard to forget, it was cold—not the mind numbing cold that seeped into your bones like back at college wherever she went—but just the chill that came with autumn, carried in the wind that tore decaying leaves off of dead branches.

Everything feels kind of blurry, she feels groggy—Bea is muttering angrily under her breath, and Mae finds herself looking at Bea’s lips, coated in black lipstick. Bea is thin, now, looking tired and ready to snap like a twig, bags beneath her eyes, but the eyeliner she wears attracts attention away from them and towards the cold, tired look, but Mae smiles regardless—she knows this is Bea and in this drunken stupor she has now, she doesn’t care about the awkward feel in the air because she loves Bea like a sister and she’s missed her.

God, she can remember those days leading up to her leaving, and she can remember considering talking to Bea—but what would the point be in rekindling that particular friendship when she was leaving anyway?

All of a sudden, something in her stomach seems to squirm. Bea must notice the green tinge to her face. “If you puke in this car, so help me...”

She groans quietly—she feels nauseous and her head pounds. _I need to apologize,_ she thinks, but she doesn’t know for what she should first. Leaving her before she ever left? Being gone for two years? For being such a bother and having Bea take her home like this, somehow drunk off her ass? “I’M SORRY, I’D—I DON’T EVEN KNOOOOW WHAT HAPPENED,” She shouts instead.

“You got sloppy ass drunk after what? Three cup of watered down beer?” Bea scoffs and seems to grip the steering wheel a bit tighter, her light brown knuckles going almost white before she sighs—she’s back to that defeated look, that tired look. 

Mae notices her hair is still brown and curly, but it still seems to hang down, limp and dead. When they were younger, it actually looked alive—Mae wonders if something happened, but she’s too drunk and stupid right now to focus on that, memories of Bea and her when they were younger grab her by the shoulders joyfully, even warmer than this car. “WEEEE USE TA BE BES’ FRIENDS!” She slurs, the _s_ in _friends_ sounding like a z. “I STIIILLLL LOVES YA, BEAA...” Her voice isn’t that loud, but the stupidity in it is louder than a gunshot. 

For a minute though, Mae thinks this is the sweetest and most genuine things she’s ever said and she hopes Bea will pull the car over and tell her everything horrible thing she missed that has her so upset and they can be friends again, but instead, there is a beat of silence before Bea sighs, “I didn’t get a word of that.”

“REMEMBER,” The _r’s_ are hard to say right now, so all Mae can do is try and try she does. “YOU USED’TA CALLL ME MAAAAAAYDAAAAAY AND I WOULD—“She hiccups and then remembers she’s drunk but keeps going anyway that drunk part of herself (which is almost all of herself) thinking maybe she can get a reaction out of Bea. “CAAALLL YOU BEEEAAABEEEAAA!”

“Oh,” she says, and for a minute, her voice is soft before it hardens. “You mean when we were like ten?” There’s an anger that flares up in her eyes. “No. I don’t.”

Mae continues. “REMEMBERRRR,” she slurs, because r’s are still so difficult. “WHEN WE WERE SCOUUUTS TOGETHER! AND WEEE CAUGHT THE TURTLE!”

Something flares in Bea’s eyes again, but not anger. “Yeah. Boxy the turtle. He died.”

Something tugs at Mae’s chest and her eyes well with tears—Boxy is almost as dead as their friendship. “WHYY YOOOU SO MAD AT ME ALLATIME?” She asks. She hiccups and—no, she’s gonna be sick. “AW MAN, IF I PUKE IN HEEERE YOU’RE PARENTS ARE GONNA BE SO MAD AT ME.” She hiccups again—Bea’s knuckles are white again and she is shaking. “TELL YOUR MOM I’M SOORRRY, OKAY, SHE’S SO NIIIIIIICE!” Another hiccup.

They reach a stoplight and Bea slams her palm on the steering wheel as hard as she can—the horn honks. “Damnit, Mae!” She shouts.

“Wha?” Nothing quite makes sense.

“My mother is dead.” The light’s red—it illuminates Bea’s face and it’s blank, but her eyes show years of pain and she is gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Whaaa?” At least she sounds shocked.

“She died.” She swears she sees Bea wipe at her eyes with her long sleeves. “Of cancer. Senior year.” The light turns green, but Bea’s hands fall into her lap and for a minute, she just sits there.

Mae wants to reassure her, she grab Bea’s shoulder and tell her what a wonderful person her mother was and how she should have lived longer and how it’s not fair and it must have been so rough for her and her father and she wishes she had been there for her in senior year to comfort her and help her through her mourning that she is still clearly struggling with, because Mae feels it in the air. Instead, she tells her, “OHH NOOO, SHE WAS SOOO NIIIICE,” and she grabs Bea’s shoulder as gentle as she can but misses and grabs Bea’s hand on her lap. “BEABEA, ARE YOU OKAY?”

“How did you not know this?” Bea asks. She yanks her hand out from under Mae’s. “You just went off to college, but even before then you forgot about me, and now you’ve forgotten about my dead mom?”

Mae has never felt more guilty in her life. Bea starts driving again, they move forward. “Aw, Bea, I’m actin’ like a jerk.” She can finally quiet down some, because her voice wouldn’t let her before.

“What happened to you?” Bea asked—she turns her head to look at Mae before going back to the road. “You used to be smart! You used to be cool! You used to be worth talking to, damnit, and now you’re all—“ Her voice breaks.

Mae sniffs, but Bea’s still going.

“Why did you even come back? Oh, did college not work out for you? Was it inconvenient? Were you not in the mood? I would have killed for that, I still would. I would kick you of this _moving car_ , if it meant I could go to college.” Mae sniffs again. “And now you’re back and you act like we’ve known each other for years, but you feel like a stranger and a child all at the same time! Where were you when I _needed_ you, Mae?!”

The car stops, but Mae is full on crying and sobbing hysterically—the turtle is dead, Bea’s mom is dead, and now Bea is suffering and she wants nothing more than to help her but she can’t, and Bea hates her guts for reasons she gets. “We’re here,” Bea says, but she isn’t angry. “Get out of my car.”

Mae is still sobbing.

“Oh, god...” Bea sighs and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Let me help you in.” Mae can see her through her blurry vision exiting the car and going to her side, opening the door and helping her out—Mae keeps sobbing.

The door is unlocked. Bea grabs Mae’s arm and puts it around her shoulders and doesn’t let Mae let go and walks her into the house and up the stairs as if she’s walked up those stairs a thousand times herself, which she probably very much has, Mae used to invite her over all the time.

When they’re in Mae’s bedroom, Bea just pushes her down onto the bed and sighs, standing up, running a hand through her hair. She looks exhausted.

“...I’m sorry—“ Her breath clips and she sniffs. “Beabea.”

Bea shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t like, kill my mom. Cigarettes did, cancer did, I guess.”

“But I-I should have been there for you.” She sniffs again. “And I wasn’t and now you _HATE_ me and you totally should and—“ She yawns.

Bea sighs, but Mae’s already fallen asleep, a half-formed apology still on her lips, her hair disheveled and lips very, very chapped. But for a minute, Bea can’t help but to smile. There, on the wall, held up by a thumbtack is a faded photograph—of her, smiling, side by side with Mae, both holding one side of a plastic Tupperware that holds a very small turtle with an even smaller teddy bear thrown in there. Bea remembers the braces she had then, the ugly, multicolored bracelets her and Mae wore with plastic beads held together by thinnest string—on another thumbtack right next to it, there’s that bracelet, pinned to the wall. Of course, there’s also pictures of her and Greg on the wall, but Bea just smiles.

She doesn’t say she kept hers too. She just smiles. “Night, Mayday.” She sees herself out, closing the door behind her as she walks outside, into the autumn night with the street, lined with flickering lampposts. 


End file.
